


Monitor Lizard

by neveralarch



Category: Transformers: Beast Wars
Genre: Drinking Games, M/M, Sticky Sexual Interfacing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-24
Updated: 2020-12-24
Packaged: 2021-03-10 16:33:53
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,906
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28300209
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/neveralarch/pseuds/neveralarch
Summary: It's a long, boring shift on monitor duty. Fortunately, Rattrap's got some ideas for how to liven it up.
Relationships: Dinobot/Rattrap (Transformers)
Comments: 19
Kudos: 59
Collections: Yuletide 2020





	Monitor Lizard

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Rosencrantz](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Rosencrantz/gifts).



> Happy yuletide! This is a treat that got a little long because I was having too much fun writing it - I hope you like it :)
> 
> This fic contains drinking and fade-to-black sex. Please let me know if you'd like details.

"Put that away," growled Dinobot.

Rattrap did not, in fact, put the bottle away. "Aw, come on," he said. "It's the middle of the night and nothing's happened all shift. Re _lax_."

Dinobot scowled. He still wasn't sure if Optimus had given them monitor duty together in a misguided attempt to make them get along, a far more reasonable hope that one of them would kill the other, or because he thought it was funny. Optimus' motives were often difficult to decipher.

But if Dinobot had to suffer Rattrap's company, he would _not_ suffer it drunk.

"I'll share," said Rattrap, oblivious to Dinobot's rising bloodlust. "It ain't great stuff, just rotgut, but it'll get you buzzed."

"Put it _away_ ," repeated Dinobot.

"We'll play kilobyte!" said Rattrap, kicking his feet up on the console. "Come on, tell me your best memory of good old Cybertron. If I got a better one, you drink."

"That's not how you play kilobyte," said Dinobot. "The goal of kilobyte is to repeat a string of numbers over and over while doing shots until your memory circuits burn out."

"Eesh, sounds awful," said Rattrap. "I like my version better."

"We were entrusted," said Dinobot, recalling himself, "with a duty. And I am going to attend to it, even if I am saddled with a pickled vermin."

"Yeah, yeah, yeah." Rattrap took a swig from his bottle. "I got the message."

They lapped into silence for nearly fifteen minutes. It was blissful (if boring). Dinobot hated that he was waiting for Rattrap to say something.

If they were on a Predacon ship, Dinobot would’ve already tried to kill Rattrap by now. It was an expected part of Predacon relationship management. If you found someone annoying, you told them so bluntly. If they persisted, you tried to kill them. Either they got the message or one of you died. It was simple, straight-forward, and remarkably similar to Predacon courtship practices. Stranded among Maximals, Dinobot often found himself at a loss for how to escape the endless series of jabs and insults.

He glared at the comm receiver. It stubbornly refused to activate and relieve him from this awkwardness with news of a Predacon attack or something equally manageable.

"My best memory," said Rattrap, abruptly, "is at this nightclub. Juke's, something like that? It was dark except for the strobe lights, and the music was pulsing in my spine. Packed, you could barely even dance without grinding up against someone. I was just this side of tipsy, and it felt like being in a gestalt, you know? Just one big warm organism, breathing and laughing and moving together."

"Hn," said Dinobot. His claws tapped on the console. He studiously avoided looking at Rattrap, lest he catch sight of what would surely be an insipidly nostalgic expression.

"Ain't been to a nightclub since I signed on with this crew." Rattrap sighed. "Guess it'll all be worth it when we beat the Preds, but..." he tipped the bottle at Dinobot. "What about you?"

"I've never been to a nightclub," said Dinobot.

"No, I mean, what's your best memory of Cybertron?" said Rattrap. "Bet it's something that’s a real downer if you're a normal person and not an honor-obsessed lizard-breath, huh? Like... killing someone in a duel to the death, or turning in a datapad to the library on time."

Dinobot's lip curled, and he considered how difficult it would be to hide a body without being caught by the ship's security cameras. "Nothing so illustrious," he said instead. "I've never seen Cybertron. I was constructed on a colony world to serve in the galactic defense army."

"Huh." Rattrap tipped his helm, considering that answer. "Guess that means you should drink."

He pushed the bottle at Dinobot, and Dinobot batted it away. "I'm not playing your puerile game," he snapped.

"Already did," sang Rattrap. "Come on, you get to pick the next question."

He actually shoved the neck of the bottle against Dinobot's snarling teeth. Dinobot snatched the thing away and took a swig before he thought better of it.

The stuff burned as it went down. It tasted more like motor oil than the engex Dinobot had sometimes been favored with by Megatron.

"Your turn," reminded Rattrap.

Dinobot glared at him. Fine. If he _must_ play, he could make sure it was as unenjoyable as possible. "Most exciting fight to the death."

Rattrap groaned. " _Not_ fair. Fighting to the death ain't exciting, it makes me wanna curl up into a ball and hide."

"Coward," muttered Dinobot.

"Yeah, and proud of it!" Rattrap tapped his bottom lip. "Somebody has to _die_ for it to count?"

Dinobot nodded. Rattrap folded his arms and didn't say anything at all.

"My best fight," said Dinobot, delicate in his triumph, "was against Magmatron, that great traitor to the Predacon cause. We fought for three days without pause, until energon soaked the killing field and our arms were too weak to lift our weapons. It was then that I released my laser blast. With his last breath, Magmatron acknowledged me the better warrior."

Rattrap blinked. "Seriously?"

Dinobot narrowed his optics. "You call me a liar?"

"Hey, hey, keep those laser beams to yourself!" Rattrap crossed his arms in front of himself, as if that could ward off Dinobot's ire. "I'm just saying, if I was dying my last words would prob'ly be 'oh frag you,' or 'bluhrgh,' or something, not 'wow you're so impressive, I wish I wasn't dying so I could suck your spike for you.'"

"You're disgusting," said Dinobot. "It was the recognition of an honorable warrior, not a _proposition_."

Rattrap cocked an eyebrow. "Uhuh."

"Take your penalty," said Dinobot, shoving the bottle at him.

He waited until Rattrap had the bottle tilted to his lips, his throat caught mid-swallow before he said, "anyway, I'm not a spike mech."

Rattrap choked, and rotgut splattered everywhere. "You're not _what_?"

"Clean that up," said Dinobot, wiping ineffectually at his plating. The rotgut was actually eating through the metal of his thigh. "What's _in_ this?"

Rattrap pointed an accusing finger at him. "Answer my question first!"

Dinobot sniffed as he sprayed his plating down with solvent from the bottle Rhinox kept handy for ‘science emergencies.’ "It's not a proper question according to the rules of _your_ game."

"Why you," began Rattrap, and then he dragged a hand over his face. "Fine. New game. We take turns asking questions, and if the other mech answers the asker takes a drink. If the other mech passes, they take a drink. Sound fair?"

Dinobot tossed the located cloth over the console. "Fine. Assuming this stuff is actually consumable."

"Great, yes, obviously it is, just look at me consuming it." Rattrap took a steadying gulp. "Now, are you a valve mech? _Really_?"

"Yes," said Dinobot, without hesitation. He had no reason to be ashamed. "Is that so strange, that a powerful mech would enjoy using his valve? That he would crave to have it filled, to feel the clench of his rubber around a thick, pulsing—"

"Enough, enough!" Rattrap gulped from the bottle and then passed it over. "I didn't ask for _details_."

Dinobot found that he was enjoying this game. He smirked. "What do you fear most in all the world?"

"Dying," said Rattrap, immediately. It was pitiful, how quickly he admitted to the coward's greatest weakness. Dinobot took his drink and returned the bottle. 

"Uhh," said Rattrap. For some reason his optics kept wandering over Dinobot's frame, always shying away from his face. "Best lay."

"Hmm." Dinobot tapped his claws against his lips. "Megatron."

" _Megatron_!"

"He's not my usual taste," said Dinobot, "but in his latest form he can kiss and give oral at the same time. _And_ he's free with his oil pool. I only regret that I had him but once on this planet. I had... plans."

Rattrap was sputtering again. "Take your drink," Dinobot reminded him.

Once the drink was taken and the bottle was back in Dinobot's hands, he took a moment to consider his question. The rotgut was strong, he'd give it that. It was becoming increasingly difficult to marshal his thoughts to his best advantage.

He settled on "how big is your spike?" Not his best effort, but most mechs found it embarrassing to be asked so bluntly—unless theirs were too large to bear countenance.

"Medium," said Rattrap. Yes, he was squirming in his seat. Typical Maximal prude.

"Please," purred Dinobot. "Be specific."

"Uhhhh," said Rattrap. "Well. I could show you?"

Ah. Then it was to be a game of dares. Well, Dinobot would not blink first. "If you find it so difficult to describe," he said.

Rattrap gulped some air. Then he grabbed the bottle and gulped some rotgut. Finally he transformed away his pelvic panel, letting his spike smoothly extend. Medium was an apt description—it was proportional to his frame, no more and no less. It also had a strand of neon blue biolights winking along its underside. There was an especially fat one at the base, and Dinobot's mouth watered a little with the perverse desire to lick it.

"Satisfied?" said Rattrap, and Dinobot realized he was staring.

"Hardly," he said, and took the bottle back so he could have his drink. "Megatron's is bigger."

Rattrap scowled and practically yanked the bottle from Dinobot's hands. "But he ain't your type, right? What exactly is your type?"

Dinobot off-lined his optics for a moment, calling up a vision of his ideal. "Small," he said. "Frightened of me, but still desirous. They would tremble between my thighs as I rode them, and I would know that their ardor for me barely outweighed their mortal terror."

"Oh, Primus," Rattrap gulped. And then gulped again.

Dinobot on-lined his optics again to see Rattrap steadily draining the bottle. "Greedy," he chastised. He couldn't help but notice that Rattrap's spike was still standing proud, bobbing a little as Rattrap swallowed.

Rattrap finished and wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. "Drink's gone, game's over," he said, hoarsely. "Hey, wanna frag?"

It was a proposition blunt enough to please any Predacon. Dinobot found himself hesitating, examining it for a trap. He glanced at the console. "We're on duty."

"Just a little break," wheedled Rattrap. "Come on, I'm fragging terrified of you. We don't even gotta go anywhere, just come over here and sit on my little friend."

Dinobot tilted his chin up and looked down his nose at Rattrap's 'little friend.' Blast it, it _did_ look appealing. He liked a spike that _fit_ his valve instead of stretching it.

"You'll lie on the floor," he decided. "Hurry up, before I change my mind."

He stood up and transformed away his panel as Rattrap scrambled to obey. He could feel a little lubricant already running down his thigh. Rattrap appeared riveted and even worshipful, as he should.

Was _this_ a Maximal courtship practice? Get your object of lust alone and bluster at them until you felt comfortable enough to frag? A duel to the death would have been more enjoyable and much less arduous. What a strange, pitiful group of mechanisms. Dinobot would need to overload at _least_ three times to make this worth it.

He did.

Dinobot was loathe to be grateful to Optimus Primal for anything. The small sting of his gratitude, however, was assuaged by imagining Optimus' horror once he realized what they'd done to the ship's floor.


End file.
